Chapter 11: Magic Source and Current

Energy flows constantly within the cells of the body, yet since the notes specifically mentions it, this kind of energy is irrelevant.

Another kind of unused energy is required. What kind of energy is it?

Magic energy?

Does it require orally ingesting the crimson liquid extracted from the Fire Bear?

Even if orally ingested, this liquid merely travels from the throat into the esophagus, then through the stomach and intestines, before being expelled, not circulating throughout the entire body.

So, intravenous injection? Similar to modern Earth's IV fluids?

However, fluid through veins only follows blood circulation and cannot reach places where the body's vascular network does not exist, thus not circulating throughout the entire body.

Then what is it?

In the laboratory, Richard pondered for a long time, while the young maid Lucy stood quietly by, not uttering a word, fearing to interrupt Richard's thoughts.

After a long while, Richard hadn't reached any answers.

He glanced at Lucy, seeing her bored expression, he absentmindedly picked up a parchment scroll covered with writing from the table and handed it to Lucy, saying, "Put it on the shelf where I keep my notes, then bring me two new scrolls."

"Yes sir," Lucy replied, her eyes brightening with something to do, reaching out to take the scroll.

As she took the scroll, their fingers met and a sudden prickling sensation flowed from her, surprising Lucy with a gasp. "Ah!"

At the same time, Richard felt a slight tingling sensation, like static electricity.

"This is... static electricity!"

Richard was first stunned, then his eyes lit up, suddenly standing up.

Lucy, who was beside him, startled, looking over and stammered, "Master... what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Richard waved his hand to indicate nothing was wrong, but his eyes kept flashing.

"Yes, it's static electricity, it's electricity!"

"The body is a conductor. If there is a kind of energy that can spread throughout the body, it can only be electric energy. Yes, electric energy!"

"Hoo." Richard slowly exhaled and the plan for overcoming the second problem emerged.

Next, he needed to figure out how to get electricity.

"Dry battery? Generator?"

Many ideas flashed through Richard's mind, ultimately deciding to start with the simplest.

So, he turned his head and asked the maid beside him, "You prepare for me some materials, saltwater, iron rods..."

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Richard didn't wait long before everything he requested was ready.

Using the prepared materials, he embarked on his first attempt: constructing the ancestor of dry cells, the Voltaic pile.

The Voltaic pile, invented by Italian professor Volta in 1800 on modern-day Earth, is the first recorded electrical generator.

Its structure is exceedingly simple: zinc and copper plates interleaved with paper, moistened with saltwater to generate electricity through a redox reaction where zinc and copper, due to their different reactivities, exchange electrons in the saltwater.

This falls within the realm of high school chemistry textbooks, so Richard wasn't daunted.

In no time, he crafted an almost perfect Voltaic pile.

However, upon testing it, Richard was disappointed to find the current extremely weak, far from sufficient for his needs.

Thus, he had to refine his approach.

Placing zinc and copper plates in cups filled with saltwater and connecting multiple similarly constructed cups still didn't yield sufficient current.

To achieve the desired effect, he would need hundreds of parallel saltwater cups.

Frustrated, Richard abandoned the Voltaic pile and turned to crafting another type of special dry cell—the Baghdad battery.

The Baghdad battery, appearing in the 3rd century BCE Mesopotamia, predates the recognized ancestor of dry cells—the Voltaic pile—by over two thousand years.

No one can fathom how such technology existed in that era, causing a sensation among scientists worldwide upon its excavation, yet no one can provide a reasonable explanation.

Richard had no interest in investigating why the Baghdad battery appeared in the 3rd century BCE. His sole focus was on creating and using it.

Structurally more complex than the Voltaic pile, it features a ceramic jar filled with bitumen, within which a copper tube stands. Inside the tube, there's another layer of bitumen enveloping an iron rod, with lead blocks securing the complete isolation of the iron rod and copper tube to form the positive and negative electrodes of the dry cell.

When a certain acidic liquid is poured into this jar, it generates electricity.

Richard invested considerable effort to manufacture this so-called Baghdad battery.

However, upon testing it briefly, he was disappointed again.

While the Baghdad battery produced significantly enhanced current compared to the Voltaic pile, it merely amplified the output a few times and didn't fundamentally differ, unable to spread throughout the body.

"If that's the case, dry cells won't suffice. After all, the current is too weak. I need to think of other ways," Richard muttered to himself.

"It seems laziness and shortcuts won't work. I'll have to employ more complex methods, like making a generator."

"A generator?" Richard narrowed his eyes, signaling Lucy to bring him a fresh roll of papyrus.

He began contemplating and sketching the design of a generator on the papyrus.

Considering various types such as hydroelectric, wind, and human-powered generators, Richard decided that starting with a wind-powered generator would be more prudent.

In essence, a wind-powered generator consists of two components: the generator responsible for electricity production and the windmill.

Richard swiftly sketched and modified the blueprint on the papyrus. Soon, he completed the rough sketch.

Observing that there was still plenty of daylight left outside, he turned to Lucy and instructed, "Inform Tuku to accompany me to see Mark."

With the design completed, Richard had no intention of making it himself. After all, it was quite a significant workload. He preferred to have skilled craftsmen handle it.

Lucy nodded obediently and hurried off. Shortly after, when Richard descended from the attic, he found Tuku already waiting at the door.

"Let's go," Richard said without much ado, turning towards the row of cottages behind the main keep. Tuku followed closely behind.

As they approached the cottages, an unpleasant odor began to pervade—sharp smells of horse dung and sour fermentation from wet feed.

Tuku frowned, but Richard remained expressionless, continuing towards one side of the stables.

Near the stables, a dilapidated shed was erected. As Richard entered, he saw a person lying on a blanket covered in grime, soundly asleep.

The man appeared to be in his fifties, with an uneven beard that was half-white and half-black on his chin.

Due to malnutrition, he seemed slightly swollen, his skin incredibly rough and wrinkled.

Wearing coarse linen clothes that barely covered his body, he emitted a pungent odor of cheap ale.

Crusty yellow sleep gathered at the corners of his eyes, left unattended for days, and his face was sooty and unwashed.

His appearance was marginally better than a beggar's, but far worse off than the poorest farmer.

Unconcerned, he snored loudly, completely oblivious to everything.

His mouth was wide open, drool trickling down his face and into his neck, forming a small puddle on the ground.

Richard raised an eyebrow upon seeing this, then turned to Tuku with a simple instruction: "Wake him up."

"Got it," Tuku replied tersely.

He strode over to the man and abruptly lifted him up, tossing him to the ground with a loud thud.

Startled awake, the man flailed his arms, shouting in confusion, "What's happening? Have the peasants rebelled and stormed the fortress?"

Tuku sneered coldly, lifted him again, and slapped him hard across both cheeks.

"Look carefully who's here! It's Master Richard who's come to see you, not some peasant revolt! I warn you, Mark, next time I hear you spout nonsense, I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget!"

"Ah, it's Master Richard," Mark exclaimed upon realizing, his face quickly transforming into a fawning smile. "Hello, Master Richard, is there... something you need?"

"You're a craftsman, and I'm here because I have a job for you," Richard said, handing Mark the design for the wind-powered generator.

"Take a look. If you can manufacture this within three days, I'll give you two barrels of ale to enjoy."

"Really?" Mark's eyes lit up with excitement.

He struggled to sit up, hands trembling as he picked up the design.

However, after blinking several times, he realized he couldn't make out the details.

Everything was blurry; he could barely distinguish the face of someone standing nearby.

After a third attempt to focus, Mark's legs gave out, and he slumped back down, clearly still drunk.

Seeing this, Tuku chuckled coldly and turned to Richard, asking, "Master, looks like he won't sober up completely before nightfall. Should I... help him out into the river outside the castle?"

"No, no, no!" Mark shrieked suddenly, waving his hands frantically.

"Master Richard, I'm not drunk, just a little low on ale in my belly, making it hard to see and feel weak. I swear, I swear, just let me have a sip... just let me have a drink, and I'll see your drawing clearly and make the thing exactly as you want."

Tuku glanced at Richard, awaiting his decision.

Richard nodded at Tuku and said, "Since he insists, give him some ale."

"Sure," Tuku responded, untying a flask from his belt and tossing it to Mark.

Mark eagerly caught it, swiftly uncorking it and gulping down the ale.

"Gulp, gulp!" The ale rushed down Mark's throat, and soon, a greedy and satisfied expression spread across his face. He finished most of the flask in one go, then stopped. In an instant, Mark was transformed.

His hands steadied, his body stopped trembling, his eyes brightened, and he seemed to radiate with boundless energy.

Without delay, he picked up the design again, glanced at it briefly, and then tapped his chest confidently.

"Master, rest assured, I can definitely make what you want. It won't take three days, just two and a half... well, just two days!"

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely!" Mark replied firmly, then added with a sheepish grin, "Of course, Master Richard, don't forget about the two barrels of ale you promised me."

"I won't forget. If you can finish it on time, the ale is yours. But if you can't, don't blame me," Richard said calmly, turning to leave the shed and heading towards the side keep.

Behind him, Mark's determined voice rang out, "Don't worry, Master. If I fail, I'll give myself a hundred lashes... emmm, a thousand lashes, until I'm beaten to death!"

Richard didn't respond, simply walking away.